Erase the Handwriting
by blackindiaink
Summary: Chloe regrets her chosen life and most of all letting Beca get away. How can you erase the handwriting on the wall?


**A/N: This is a sort of sad, ethereal idea that just came out of my strange mood. There will be three chapters as of now. Let me know if it even strikes a cord with any of you. I'm not sure if it is worth continuing. **

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What does it mean to touch a life? If I think about how it's happened to me I can't answer the question. There are just too many ways that people come into your life and so many more ways that they leave it. If I had not made the decisions that I have I don't think anything would be as it is now. I wouldn't be lonely and forever looking for something to staunch the flow of regret in my life.

I had a chance, I think, many years ago. I was in college at the time. It's a very fluent time in anyone's life, the best time to make mistakes. My best friend was a type A, OCD, control freak but I loved her that way. Sometimes I wondered if there was anything else between us. Maybe that was one of the choices I should have explored. Thinking about that makes me laugh now but she isn't the person I'm thinking of. The one bright pin prick of light in a life of dark canvas.

Most people have one individual that has graced their lives. That person represents everything that didn't happen, all the possibilities that couldn't happen for whatever reason. We all wish that we could go back and explore those options but that's impossible or I thought it was. The one person who hooked me so hard, spun my world around, and changed the meaning of relationships for me is the one that got away, Beca Mitchell.

It is ten years past graduation and I am ensconced in my comfortable life. It wasn't anything I could have predicted. Thirty-two, husband, no kids, and a career that I never thought I wanted. The husband was the biggest mistake on that list, but what do you say to a guy who appears really awesome and perfect when he asks you to marry him?

He said all the right things and made me feel like I would be doing a disservice to everyone, including him, if I didn't accept. Two months in the holes started to appear. His manipulation mangled who I was so much that I forgot myself. Now, when I try to think about him all I can see in my mind is a perfectly ironed shirt and beautiful silk tie, filled out by a dark shadow in the shape of a person. He was nothing he appeared to be, hiding behind good will and taking advantage of my need to please.

Corporate law is perfect for him, politics is even better and here we are five years into a marriage that seems like nothing more than a sham. My best friend, Aubrey, works at the same firm. It's how we met, at a company function. She always used to bring me in lieu of a date because she didn't want anyone prying into her life. He was all smiles and I gave in to what people expected.

What could have been. That is the subject of this. When I lay down to sleep I know on the surface I have a good life. I know that if I had a good enough reason I could get out. The casam that opens up when I think about that scares me. Fear is the greatest ingredient of ambivalence that I have ever known.

Beca was sharp and small, smart and hard with the softest center you could ever imagine. When I saw her weaving in and out of the other students that first day, the air of mystery surrounding her made me stop everything and pay attention. I've always been impulsive and when I spoke to her it was the effect of something in the universe pushing me forward. A solid shove from fate.

The way she spoke, so blunt, exactly what she thought with no pretense to any other end.

My eyes followed her when she walked away, winding through the other students, around the booths, and disappearing from view. The tiny figure she had become was swallowed by the distance.

After that I thought of her often. Even during my fun times with my on again, off again booty call, Tom. That day we went to the showers together I heard her sing and again impulse took over. I tried to make it just about her talent but it was impossible to hide the roving eyes and innuendo. It never occurred to me that it was that big of a social gaff until Aubrey explained it to me later.

Gradually, the flirting came to a point where I was starting to feel like we were getting somewhere but there was someone else who pulled her in another direction. Watching them together made me incredibly sad. I had lost before we even began but that's not the part of the story I like to dwell on.

I like to think about the kiss. Before Jesse ever had the privilege of being kissed by Beca, I did. If you get a group of young college girls together, give them an unlimited supply of alcohol, and let them loose, you will end up with some very interesting results. For me, it ended in the best fifteen minutes of my life. Beca was a great kisser.

I guess she and Jesse were fighting and on the outs. This was my chance but I was playing it cool. Until she leaned in and did it. I always thought I would have to be the one to kiss her but she surprised me. It was long and involved. Her hands pulled all the feelings out of me, sparking my touches and making me feel like liquid fire was running down my back.

She had me up against someone's bedroom wall. My hands were everywhere, trying to pull her close enough. We never left each other's mouths as we pried at shirts and jewelry, the buttons of pants flying open easily. It would have gone farther. We would have slept together but as usual someone had to ruin it by discovering us.

That was the last time I would have the privilege to touch or be touched by Beca Mitchell. I think about it all the time. I look for it in other people. Yes, I look outside my marriage but I don't touch, not like he does. I dream about her at night sometimes, consumed by the question of how two cosmically linked people can lose one another. I can't think about it anymore.

Tonight, I am home early but not by choice. It doesn't happen often because our house has become something of a penitentiary. We live like roommates, separate bedrooms, bathrooms, and favorite parts of the house that kept us from having much contact.

He isn't home much and sometimes I don't come home. The hospital has a multitude of uncomfortable beds for me to sleep on. So, when I'm on call I stay there and I take everyone's call who doesn't want it. A result of the need to fill my life with other people's problems so that I can ignore my own. That's why they sent me home. Your body and mind can only take so much before it burns out, making you appear to be a slip of what you once were.

I have a month's worth of leave ahead of me and no idea how to spend it. When the head of the department took me into his office and dropped the news I protested. I almost got angry, but I was too tired. Too tired to look him in the eye and lie about how I was feeling. So, he sent me home. I am not to set foot in the hospital for at least thirty days.

The sitting room upstairs has a window seat that I love. I can't spend thirty days sitting here though so I'm thinking, trying to make a plan. The neurons in my brain don't seem to want to fire and it feels like my mind is no longer connected to my heart.

After a good hour of staring out the window and gaining no insight, I dragged myself to bed. Sleep came so quickly that I had no defense against it. I was there and then gone in minutes. I dreamed, things I hadn't thought about in a long time. The touches and regrets of an entire ten years, dreams of the greater volume of my daily thoughts. What could have been. What if I had stuck around and fought for her?


End file.
